


Tangled Up

by Auredosa



Category: Wizard101
Genre: Dubious Consent, Egg Laying, Eggs, Object Birth, Other, Oviposition, Plants, Tentacles, but they're more like plantacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:00:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,922
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23762707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Auredosa/pseuds/Auredosa
Summary: Professor Droors finds a mysterious seed in the ruins of Old Wysteria, where lush foliage has consumed the remnants of a civilization before him.He could've never guessed the wonders-and terrors-of nature it'd bring into his classroom.
Relationships: Chester Droors/Plant
Comments: 4
Kudos: 25





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine's got me like-  
> Half inspired by all those "Nature is healing uwu" statements while we're in the midst of quarantine, half inspired by my thirst for everyone's favorite voodoo-possessed mind-controlled Malistaire-wannabe Chester Droors, here we are. Skip to the second third-ish of chapter 2 if you're just here for the plant porn.

“This weekend’s homework is to produce each of the eucalyptus remedies in your apothecary books. Bring a completed kit with each item on Monday.” Professor Droors closed the heavy tome with a thud. “Class dismissed.”

The earth students of Pigswick Academy dispersed with haste. Droors began to tidy up his desk from a demonstration of medicine-making and foundational healing basics, sweeping bits of torn leaves and herbs into a barrel of green scraps. He’d use them as compost for the garden outside later. Vials of amber liquids he’d guided his students through making were poured out into a nearby black cauldron. Each concoction bubbled until it evaporated into vapor, filling the emptied room with the sour stench of burnt witch hazel.

His head began to duly pound. The afternoon light coming through the glass ceiling suddenly seemed too bright. He wondered when he’d last held a lecture outside, where the air was fresher, and he didn’t feel his age. As exasperated as Droors was, he didn’t dare allow any of his pupils to linger and help out; he learned last term that young clumsy hands despite good intentions led to disastrous weed infestations and pollen explosions. It was much better to do this part himself.

When the mess of the day’s lesson had been cleaned up, he collapsed in his desk chair, an unusual place to seat himself as opposed to the marble bench outside, where he usually took to after class. But today, his legs refused to even carry him out the door. His eyes fell to the stacks of papers and scrolls that still remained; A pile of field reports yet to be graded, unopened letters from earth professors around the Spiral awaiting replies, and lists of ingredients to order from Ophelia and Petunia’s for next week’s lessons, written in his own, increasingly slanted handwriting. He dreaded the long hours of work they implied, and for the reagents, the gold that’d be coming out of his own pocket.

Droors sighed in hollow exhaustion. He sunk into the firm cushion of his chair. Merlin’s beard, he needed a _break_. An afternoon _not_ spent hunched over failed essays and messily drawn pictures of the same leaves from the potted bushes on the streets.

An afternoon to get away . . .

He slowly sat up and pulled his leather satchel from beneath his desk. He slid the letters, homework to-be-graded, and his shopping list into the bag. Slinging it over his shoulders, he left the classroom and made a sharp left on the sidewalk, and headed towards the empty street to the ruins of Old Wysteria, where no one would bother him.

The ruins themselves were a beauty to behold, with tall looming towers of stone stained with blankets of moss, and the bridges connecting the lost city together, held up by columns that sunk deep into the valley below. Foliage, dying and growing back covered every inch of crumbled concrete. Here, the wonders of earth and its inescapable clutches were everywhere. Here, Droors was at peace.

He never dared to sit on any of the rubble that was once the foundation of a great colosseum or someone’s proud home. Instead, he hiked over the uneven ground until he found a familiar clearing in the middle of four crumbling walls. Carved benches and split trees dotted this former courtyard. He’d made it his own personal safe haven-a quiet place where he could let go and _breathe._

As Droors perched himself on an ornate stone bench, relishing in the lightness in his feet being off the ground, something in the knee-high grass caught his eye. Sitting in the green blades was a round ruby nut-or was it perhaps a seed? He picked it up with a careful touch he reserved for the delicate budding plants in his classroom. It was surprisingly heavy in his palm, like it was a nugget of pure silver painted to resemble the bulb of a flower. He didn’t recognize its shape or color, and after a quick glance at the nearby toppled trees, he reasoned that it hadn’t come from the surrounding flora, either. It was too heavy to have been carried by the wind, and too young to have been laying there for long.

He hummed and slipped the seed into his pocket. In his hand was the beginning of a newfound discovery. It was no surprise that the ancient ruins had mysteries of their own within. The cold surface of the seed in his pocket made him aware of how chilly the air was. He looked to the sky and saw it burning with the muted colors of dusk. Had evening come so quickly? He felt a twinge of disappointment and got up from the bench. Running his fingers over the seed in his pocket, Droors left the courtyard as discreetly as he’d came, dreading the work that awaited him at home, but excited at his new finding; even if it was as seemingly simple as an innocent seed.

The weekend came and went, a little too quickly for certain students struggling to put together eucalyptus balm and burn cream. That following crisp Monday morning found Professor Droors laying a spiky bur rug at the entrance to his classroom, a commodity he’d usually employ during the winter to stop students from trekking the snow inside. The spines poked his skin through his well-worn leather gloves.

A short shadow was suddenly cast over his hands. “Ah, good morning,” he greeted, looking up to the face of a sleep-deprived student. His brows furrowed at the sight of their soiled shoes. “Did you, too, take a detour through a bog on your way here?”

“No, sir.” They shook their head. “There was some kind of plant infestation at the edge of the residential district, near the forest. It broke through an entire wall! The sap is really sticky; I couldn’t get the dirt off even after the walk here!”

“How peculiar. That would certainly explain why everyone is walking about with muck on their shoes.” In his years of teaching, he’d learned that students liked to hold practice duels in the outskirts of the city. He supposed that the “plant infestation” was the mess made by an inexperienced earthbender. It wouldn’t be the first time new wizards hadn’t cleaned up after themselves.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Wipe off your own before going inside, please.”

Class that day went as smoothly as Droors expected, if “smoothly” consisted of ointments that scorched arms and exploded in their vials. Disappointed, but not surprised, he changed his lesson plan and gave his class the day to re-do their assignment, this time, under a watchful eye and an instructor’s discretion.

“You forgot to add the ivy stems. That’s why your salve simply sits on the skin,” he explained to a particularly lost pupil. “There’s some growing in the back of the room, on the shelf.”

“Oh, that makes sense!” She got out of her seat and went to the counter of ingredients grown and harvested in the classroom. Jars in every shape and size containing greens both familiar to her and not lined the table. Seeing one containing a sprawling plant that almost spilled out of its container, she called to Professor Droors;

“It’s this stuff, right professor?”

Droors turned from another student he’d been aiding. She was pointing at the pot he’d planted the red seed from the ruins in-or at least, what he _could_ see of it. The ceramic container was barely visible underneath the vines. His eyes widened at how much it’d grown since he’d watered it that morning.

“Er, no, it’s in a square box next to the mistwood sprouts.” He walked to the shelf, eager to check on his plant.

“What’s this, then? I think it’s going to need a bigger pot!”

“This is a personal project of mine. Do take care not to touch it.” Droors picked up the heavy ceramic pot, turning it and marveling at how what initially seemed to be a promising sprout was now a sprawling vine, snaking over its own pot and into the others. He’d handled plants that grew swiftly in the past, but he’d never come across one that grew to full maturity within a matter of days. Each vine was as big as his gloved thumbs, smooth and bright green in color. A rush of childlike amazement made him smile, as the ruins in their entirety had done all those years ago.

The wonderful moment of discovery was, alas, ruined by the dreadful noise of glass shattering, and the sizzle of a failed brew spilling across the floor.

“My bad, Mr. Droors! I’ll clean this up!”

He grunted, carefully setting down the plant away from the others for the time being. He grabbed a hay broom and dustpan from the array of tools beside the shelf. And then, as an afterthought, a spare pair of rough gloves, for the student to clean up themselves.

Behind him, the mysterious vine continued to grow, reaching over the table and onto the floor, unseen by anyone else.

It was in the late afternoon when Professor Droors realized his mysterious plant was more than just some vine.

He’d since re-located it into the atrium behind his classroom, a wide, open sanctuary covered in greenery, perfect for his eager plant. The glass ceiling effectively made the room a greenhouse. He adjusted the collar of his brown tunic at the hot, humid dew in the air that seemed to follow him to his desk. He considered taking his paperwork outside, where he might sit under the oak tree and watch the moonlight fall on the pale buildings outside as the harsh sunlight gave way to cool evening air.

The sudden feeling of something coiling around his ankle snapped him out of his daydream.

He jerked away from the table, kicking up his leg to ward off _whatever_ was trying to ensnare him. A green rope was wrapping itself tight around his sole. It tugged back, and Droors tried kicking off his boots to appease it and make his escape. Its strong hold seemed to want him out of his chair! He held onto his desk with a vice grip as his eyes followed it across the floor, and into the entrance to the atrium. Of course that extraordinary plant was rooted in malice! He should’ve known better than to conduct his own studies without the help of his colleagues.

Panicked, Droors pulled a drawer open and grabbed a sharp letter opener. He dragged the blade deep across the vine wrapping up and around his pant leg, and to his relief, it cut through with ease. The length wrapped around his leg uncurled and fell to the floor, like a freshly cut weed, while the rest began to slither back to where it came from.

Droors panted in his chair, never taking his eyes off the vine as his heart beat wildly in his chest. The plant had actually _retreated_ , aware that it was in danger. If it possessed that kind of intelligence, should he have reasoned with it instead? Perhaps it only wanted his attention, and never intended to cause harm at all. He replaced the letter opener in the drawer and rose from his desk, a sting of guilt in his stomach.

He gingerly picked up the part of the vine he’d cut off and was immediately glad he was still wearing his gloves. Its sap was viscous between his fingers and smelled like honeydew. There was a shiny trail of it on the floor, beckoning him, if he had the courage.

Terrified and unbearably curious at the same time, he followed the vine’s slimy trail into the atrium.

After the incident last year with theft of the Spiral Cup, he’d repurposed the massive chamber made behind his classroom into a sanctuary of sorts. The ground was soft and hanging above him, lining the room’s round walls were canopy leaves and bright green foliage. It was a piece of the ruins in his own classroom, peaceful and serene.

And at least for now, the giant sprawling vine mass in the center of the room seemed to cooperate in keeping it that way.

He remained still at the entrance, watching the plant writhe and sit in the middle of the room with careful observation. There were larger vines that swayed slowly at the base of the plant, heavy with nectar. On the top were thinner, nimble stems like the one that confronted him mere moments ago. It looked a bit taller than half his height; and though he was notably short for a man his age, it was still an alarmingly _huge_ plant. Droors’s own physical might had never been a concern of his, but he found himself wondering if he had the strength to trim this tendrilled terror. He could grab a pair of gardening shears and treat it as an overgrown shrub, but he doubted the plant would let him get that close, now that it knew he was a threat.

No, conducting usual plant-maintenance would be useless. Pointing at the massive plant, Droors began whispering the incantation to summon a wrathful tree beast. If he pinned the massive plant to the floor with boulders, he bet it was possible to finish it off himself with whatever means available. It was too dangerous to be kept in his classroom or replanted in the ruins where it would inevitably spread to the city.

The last word came out in a rasp. At his side, the branches and trunk of his summoned minion rose from the ground. A mound of granite surfaced from the dirt into its hands. Droors held his breath as it hurled the boulder towards the center of the room-

It landed with a heavy thud, squishing the heavier vines under its weight. The tree minion broke into twigs and faded away, having done its job. The plant’s hissing stopped, and its limbs fell limp. Droors sighed in relief, withdrawing his hand and descending from the mouth of the sanctuary. He stepped towards the unmoving mass, racking his brain for spells to conjure on the spot to finally rid himself of this invasive houseplant.

He was about to start another incantation when a branch crunched underneath his foot, piercing through the serene silence. The ends of each vine perked up, awake and aware. Most terrifyingly of all, they all seemed to face _him._

They sprang towards Droors with renewed speed; ensnaring his wrists and ankles before he could turn around. His limbs were pulled away from him and the pocket he kept his spell cards in for emergencies was out of his reach. He didn’t have time to scream before a fat stem plunged itself into his mouth, silencing his cries as it coated his tongue in sweet sap. His bout with this bush of vines was over before it had even begun.

Through his terror, he came to regret a certain statement he’d made to a young wizard not too long ago;

_“From Earth came all things, and eventually, all shall return to its clutches.”_

Choking on the syrupy nectar, the will to resist inevitable injury-or worse-left his body. He only hoped that his dedicated, gentle practice of earth magic would be repaid in the earth being gentle with him.


	2. Chapter 2

And so, it was.

When Droors stopped squirming, the vines didn’t erupt into horrifying mouths with teeth or keep trying to squeeze him to death. The one in his mouth retreated, leaving a glistening trail of saliva and sap on his stubbled chin. The others continued to hold him off the ground with an impossible strength. Two of the vines began tugging off his gloves, and his boots and wool socks followed. They left a cold stain of sap on his skin as they stripped him of his clothes. Confusion began to override his fear. What kind of predatory plant would bother disrobing humans?

He tried to come up with an answer, to view his predicament with a scientific lens. It was difficult to think while wincing at the sound of his coat, shirt, and trousers being torn to shreds. His leaf crown fell askew over his brows, and he was thankful to not have to look at his own drawers being pulled down his legs. The cool air of the approaching evening met his exposed cock, making his face flush in mortification.

One of the smaller vines appeared between his thighs. It lined itself up with his entrance, teasing him with a sticky, wet tap, and suddenly Chester Droors understood his mysterious plant’s intentions.

It plunged into him, an awful squelch filling his ears as he cried out in pain. The burn of being penetrated so harshly was as excruciating as it was fleeting. In mere seconds, the initial hurt was gone, soothed by the cool sap coating his insides. The slick tendril in his ass was egregiously disgusting and-

And _extraordinarily pleasurable._

Droors let out a groan from the bottom of his throat, letting the plant have its way with him. He even tried to buck his hips and force the vine deeper inside him, but his legs were bound in the air, spread wide and so _open_. The vine thrust into and out of him in a constant rhythm, drawing humiliating noises from his mouth with every probe of his prostate. It was wet and thick and _filled him up perfectly_. His member was rock-hard and a bead of precum was leaking from the tip. He secretly hoped one of the vines would take care of that need, too.

Unfortunately, the plant seemed to have other plans. Just as Droors felt the warmth in his groin about to burst, the vine stilled and pulled out, It pulled slowly, and he felt every inch of it slide out of him. He cursed Merlin’s name when it left him empty. After an agonizing moment of not having his arse stuffed, a much larger and blunt vine pressed against his entrance. It was wider than before, and Droors desperately clamped his thighs around it, savoring the feeling of the tough plant muscle between his legs.

The vines binding him tensed up, spreading him wide open as the round tip probed his hole. He was puzzled again, before his basic knowledge of plant procreation returned; every plant sprouts from a _seed_.

It pressed into him, easing him open. Looking at it was too salacious a sight; from what he could feel, it was much bigger than the tiny seed that got him here in the first place. He hissed as it stretched him, slowly filling him up. It felt as big as an apple, perfectly smooth, and definitely red, too. It bottomed out and disappeared inside him, leaving Droors panting like a mutt. And then, a second followed suit, and he smiled hazily. What a joy it was, as an earthbender, to bring new life into the world.

Seed after seed was pumped into him, and he lost count after the third. They sat low in his gut, making his stomach tauntly bulge out. One of the vines released his wrist, and Droors instantly drew his hand to the seeds inside him, cupping his sweat-slick belly with a moan. For a minute, he remained there, catching his breath. He wouldn’t staying here for the rest of the evening, safe in the plant’s hold full of seeds.

Suddenly, his stomach lurched, and a pit inside him shifted, wanting _out_. His heart began beating wildly in his chest. At once, the vines restraining him let go, and Droors fell on all fours. He didn’t have the energy to hold himself up, letting his shoulders dig into the dirt. Droors raised his rear to the ceiling, opening his legs as far as he could. His thoughts condensed into a single word; _push_.

He shut his eyes and bore down, grunting as his muscles tried to squeeze the seed out. Its tip peeked from his ring of muscle, almost but not quite out. He grunted, giving one more forceful push. At last, the seed popped out of his rear, followed by another, and then another. He gasped, being stretched wide as every egg was squeezed out of his arse at once. Cum shot across his glistening chest, his cock throbbing against his emptied belly. Droors let out a growling moan as the last seed slid over his ass cheeks. His puckered hole gaped, and, determined to make sure everything was out, tensed until a gush of slick poured from his pink rosebud.

Droors looked behind him between his legs; about half a dozen seeds lay beneath his quivering rear, wet with sap and the nectar in his stomach. They glistened in the early evening dusk. In his peripheral vision, he could see the mass of vines slithering towards them, eager to inspect his work. At least now they were finished with him.

Exhausted, his knees gave out and the head of his cock was buried in the upturned soil. He was dirty, sticky, and tired; for Merlin’s sake, he’d just birthed half a dozen seeds! The soreness of his shoulders and elbows set in, and he realized how _winded_ he was. His last shred of rationality ran rampant; He imagined his classroom being the plant’s new breeding ground. It would break out of the atrium, grow past the front doors and into the streets in a matter of days. The city would truly be reclaimed by the ancient flora of the past, and he, his students, and everyone in Wysteria would be powerless to stop it.

That’s quite alright, he mused. _“From Earth came all things, and eventually, all shall return to its clutches.”_

Without another thought, his vision faded to black, and Professor Droors passed out in nature’s embrace.

_Betrum Benwicker_

_Ravenwood, Wizard City_

_Dear Professor Chester Droors,_

_I hope this letter finds you in good health and safety. If you haven’t already heard, there’s been a recent discovery of a new invasive species of vine that has been wrecking havoc across the Spiral. In case this is news to you, here is what myself and the other faculty at Ravenwood have managed to put together._

_This new species of vine seeks out people, and tends to grow best near urban areas, however, the reason why is currently unknown. It possesses a high amount of intelligence and motor control; directly confronting it with gardening tools and scythes resulted in its immediate fleeing from the area, and its sneaky disposition has made it nigh impossible to capture for research purposes or destroy. It was quite a trifle when Dahlia tried to burn it the other day!_

_We’ve managed to close off areas where the vine has taken up residence, but it grows faster than we can build up the walls! And if construction does finish before then, it just breaks right through! Headmaster Firehammer has suggested sealing in entire streets using some kind of magical barrier, but there’s little in the books about such a thing, and our forces are spread too thin to go looking for a permanent solution._

_It’s impossible to tell how far this pestilent plant has spread without Spiral-wide correspondence. That being said, please respond as soon as you can. We’d appreciate your insight on his crisis, seeing as you’ve been a master ~~theurgist~~ earthbender for much longer than any of us!_

_Sincerely,_

_Betrum Benwicker, Life Professor at Ravenwood School of Magical Arts._

**Author's Note:**

> Not even three weeks after my past publication, and here I am again in the Wizzy fandom. I'm surprised there isn't more porn for this series, considering its player base is mainly teenagers and college kids coming back for the Nostalgia™. Also, this was my first time writing something, er, not so child-friendly! I didn't want to say it at the beginning, but I'm sorta proud of myself. Let me know how I did!
> 
> As always, constructive criticism is appreciated. Thanks for reading!


End file.
